


Through Silence

by velocity_times_2



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drinking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Keith is bad at self care, Keith makes the first move, Lance just wants to help, M/M, Massage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pidge is a little shit, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking, but don't figure it out without a little nudge from alcohol, for a paragraph, hunk is a crier, hunk is the voice of reason, shiro is sad, space vodka, they're just in love, voltron wasted, which shocks us all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velocity_times_2/pseuds/velocity_times_2
Summary: Lance has had a fire kindling in him for weeks. Keith has gone from rival to teammate to friend to this entity that has begun to keep him up at night. He's started to notice little things like the way Keith smiles or how his facial expressions are more animated than people give him credit for, but Lance keeps those thoughts firmly bottled up inside his brain. He doesn't let himself think about it, at least not sober. But with alcohol comes ease, and with ease comes opportunities that maybe could lead somewhere.Or: Pidge confiscates Hunk's cooking alcohol for getting Voltron wasted and Lance helps Keith with a shoulder injury.





	Through Silence

“Where did you even get this stuff?” Pidge asked, lifting the bottle to study the brakish liquid inside while her other hand adjusted her glasses.

 

“Remember that planet with the guys with the, the,” Hunk made a gesture in the general area above his hair, “eyes up here? Yeah, there. I’m going to make some crème brûlée thanks to Kaltenecker! It’s to flambé the tops.” His eyes flashed with excitement while Pidge uncorked the bottle and swirled it under her nose. “That cow was seriously the best thing to ever happen to us, I mean she’s really upped my game-“

 

“Oh holy shit, Hunk, this stuff smells strong,” Pidge interrupted as she recoiled at the smell before lifting the bottle again, “I’ma drink it.”

 

“Pidge that’s not a good-“ Pidge took a long swig, “idea.” Pidge’s face was a little contorted but she swallowed the liquid with little regard for the taste.

 

Hunk groaned in defeat.

 

“What bad idea is Pidge acting upon now?” Lance came into the kitchen then, Keith on his heels still talking.

 

“Lance, this conversation isn’t over.”

 

“Hunk got us space vodka!” Pidge announced a little too loudly for the small space, lifting the bottle in triumph to the room.  

 

“Lance, we will pick up this conversation later,” Keith shouldered past Lance and took the bottle from Pidge, ignoring her protests at his obvious stealing. Without deliberation he took two quick gulps, letting his face twist in disgust. “Damn Hunk, this stuff is horrible.” He wiped the excess away from his mouth with the back of his hand and offered it towards Lance. Pidge whined, making grabby hands at the bottle.

 

“Give it backkkkk Keith!”

 

“No, no one listen to Hunk, no one listen to the fact that he bought the stuff for _desert,”_ Everyone continued not to listen to Hunk’s mutterings.

 

Lance took the bottle from Keith and because Keith did, he went straight in. That was a terrible idea on Lance’s part.

 

The liquid burned its way down his throat and he was doubled over coughing before he even knew the alcohol entered his system. A fist collided with his spine and the coughing let up. The force behind it was such that he thought Keith was now the one helping him up from his hunched position, but it was Pidge who was shoving his shoulder and stealing the bottle of foul-tasting horror away from him. She giggled after her second sip, this time happily giving the bottle back to Keith.

 

“I know no one actually cares, but I’m going on record as saying this is one of our worst ideas,” Hunk piped in from the other side of the counter, eyes trying to find agreement from his friends and failing.

 

“Come on big guy,” Lance said as his voice finally came back to him, “I’ve seen you drink before.”

 

“That was _one_ beer while we were cadets, not, not space vodka!”

 

“For the record, this tastes nothing like vodka,” Keith finally took his second drink and winced slightly less this time, “it’s about a thousand times worse.”

 

“How would you know?” Lance asked, considering the bottle that Keith was now not handing back to him. Lance snatched it anyway and braced himself for the gasoline fire that was about to wreak havoc to his stomach.

 

“Delinquent, remember?” Keith shot his friends a small grin, “I didn’t just get kicked out of the Garrison for my over the top flying.”

 

“So, you admit your flying is over the top,” Lance bore his stare into Keith and could feel the electricity of a fight beginning to form between them.

 

The hiss of the door had everyone’s heads snapping to attention while Shiro strolled in with a hand tugging on white tuft at the front of his hair.

 

“Why are we remembering your delinquency, Keith?” Keith looked at Lance for help, all pretenses of an argument gone, and Lance looked at Hunk who decidedly would not meet Lance’s eyes. Traitor. Giggling erupted from the ground unto which Pidge had slid and she once again reached out for the bottle that Lance was still holding.

 

“Space _vodka,”_ she got out between huffs of giggles, her glasses beginning their slow descent down her nose.

 

“Is Pidge….” Shiro leaned down over the girl, head tilting to the side. Shiro would make a cute puppy, Lance thought, “drunk?”

 

“She only had two sips,” Keith said, eyebrows doing that furrow thing and holy shit. Lance was tipsy. Because only tipsy Lace would admit to knowing what Keith’s eyebrows did.

 

Shiro took the bottle from Lance’s hand, which was unmoving at his side at this point, and studied it for a moment. Lance thought he was going to confiscate it, or scold them, or do whatever Shiros did in this situation. But what Shiro did was almost worse. Almost.

 

“Fuck it,” their leader said, “bottoms up.” And apparently that’s where Keith learned to drink because Shiro fucking chuged from the bottle before letting it fall a little too forcefully to the kitchen’s table.

 

“Voltron wasted!” Pidge cheered from the floor, both her arms pumping in the air in victory.

           

“I hate you all,” was the last word Hunk said before grabbing the bottle and going in for his drink. Lance joined in the cheer of victory, and it’s kind of like being a normal teenager again.

 

\-------

           

Except for the fact that space vodka,

_“It’s not vodka!”_

_“Then enlighten us, Mr. Red Lion,” Lance is giggly at this point too, “what the hell_ is _it?”_

 

Is, like, the fastest acting alcohol ever to be consumed by human beings, and the feeling of warmth spread through Lance’s body faster than he ever imagined it could. At some point they had made their way into the lounge and Pidge had draped herself across Hunk’s body (“I’m stealing his warmth,” she had whispered to the room conspiratorially), Lance was on the floor, legs propped up on the couch, and Keith was sitting next to Shiro, both of them looking normal if not just slightly more relaxed than usual. The walls that surrounded Keith had seemed to be undone piece by piece as the alcohol settled into his bones. His shoulders were now slumped down and his posture was loose, head lolled back on the couch with a lazy smile playing at his lips.

 

Space vodka Lance really liked being able to look at tipsy Keith’s lips.

 

“I wish there was space texting,” Hunk blurted while Lance was trying to tear his eyes away from studying how pale Keith’s throat was.

 

“When are we going to stop using space as an adjective?” Shiro asked, staring at the ground in contemplation.

 

“I mean in theory,” Pidge began, lifting her head from Hunk’s arm and blinking hard.

 

“No I want reality, not theory,” Hunk worried his bottom lip between his teeth, making little noises like he was trying to bite off the words before they came out of his mouth. Space vodka made filters go away, though, and he continued on, “I miss Shay so much.”

 

Shiro’s eyes when they turned themselves on Hunk were softer than Lance had ever seen them, softer and full of a sadness that had been unleashed. “Being away from someone you love is the hardest thing in the universe,” and the words were directed toward Hunk’s confession but didn’t seem to really be for him.

 

“I-I don’t love Shay, I mean she’s pretty and kind, and her voice is my favorite sound but-“ Pidge, the little shit, cut him off. Because apparently that’s all she’s good at when drunk.

 

“Hunky’s in loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

 

“Love doesn’t have that many syllables,” Keith corrected without lifting his head or opening his eyes. It was the first time he had spoken since they left the kitchen.

 

“Mullets went out of style decades ago,” she countered and if Lance had any strength to pull his body off the ground he’d bump his fist against hers. Bump fist? Fist five?

 

“Fist bump,” he muttered, finally finding the right combinations of synonyms while everyone talked around him. Keith’s leg vibrated against his in silent laughter and since when was Lance’s leg pressed up against Keith’s? How had that not been something Lance noticed until now?

 

“What was that, Lancey?” Keith said, the laughter transferring into his voice.

 

“Couldn’t remember the words for,” and Lance reached up and took Keith’s wrist in one hand while loosely knocking the knuckles of his other into the boy’s, “that thing.”

 

“How long did it take you to figure that out?”

 

“Dunno,” Lance said and he dropped Keith’s wrist. Keith grabbed at Lance’s falling fingers when they broke away and wrapped his hand around Lance’s. Lance hummed because yeah. Physical contact was nice.

 

Lance had always been a cuddly drunk, at least the few times his siblings had shared with him he had been. Veronica had always let him sleep it off in her bed so they could zap warmth from one another in the languid silence that only siblings could achieve. Since Ronnie wasn’t here to cling to, holding Keith’s hand was an okay alternative, he decided. He didn’t know how long they sat like that, in the not-silence that a space craft had with air generators and machinery always at work, but it was nice. Shiro was the only one still drinking, the bottle cradled in his human arm. Occasionally he would run his thumb over his fingers, like he was looking for something that used to be there.

 

Lance’s head hurt. He closed his eyes and found a small sliver of silence in his brain to burrow into. He was aware of his friends talking here and there, their voices floating around the room and sometimes his subconscious would even hum back at their words in agreement or in encouragement, but he stayed hidden inside his head. It was nice there, because he could tune back in and focus on the warmth of Keith’s leg against his and not much else mattered. And that kind of quiet had been left back on earth until now. So, it was nice. _This_ was nice.

 

\-----

 

“Hunk are you crying?” Keith’s voice broke into Lance’s silence, Keith’s dark head finally pulling itself up off the back of the seat to look more directly at the pile that was supposed to resemble Hunk and Pidge on the far end of the couches.

 

“Pidge fell asleep and she’s so cute,” Hunk whimpered, staring down at Pidge who was indeed fast asleep across Hunk’s lap, “How is she that little?” he whispered, looking up at his friends.

 

“So Hunk’s a crier,” Keith stated, knocking his knee against Lance’s and grinning down at the other boy.

 

“Hunk’s a crier,” Lance confirmed and squeezed the fingers that he for a second forgot he was holding.

 

“Pidge’d kill you if,” Shiro had to take a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut before continuing, “she heard you saying any of that.”

 

“I know,” Hunk confirmed, tearfully nodding down at the youngest charge.

 

“Room spinning yet, Shiro?” Keith asked, eyes rolling away from Lance and up their team leader.

 

“Like a goddamn turntable,” Shiro confirmed, chuckling under his breath, “I haven’t been this drunk since-“ and just like that Shiro’s entire body seemed to shut down. Keith immediately snapped to attention, his body going rigid and his hand jerking away from Lance’s.

 

“Shiro-“ Keith’s voice was pain incarnate, and he reached out as Shiro went to stand up and stumbled forward. The bottle was down to the dredges, thank quiznak, so space vodka didn’t go flying when it rolled to the side and clanged as it hit the metal ground. Whatever memory that he had resurfaced, it changed the relaxed feeling of the room, and it was obvious Shiro was not the type of drunk that spilled whatever secrets he had locked up from his past.

 

“I’m going to bed,” Shiro said dismissively when Keith tried to engage him again, and his stumble up the step would have been comical if it didn’t feel as if someone had just opened the air lock and sucked the atmosphere out of the room. Sensing an uncomfortable situation, Hunk scooped a passed-out Pidge up against his chest and stood the second Shiro was out of the room.

 

“Yeah I, I’m going to make sure she gets like, tucked in and, yeah.”

 

“What just happened?” Lance asked to the too big feeling settling over the room now that it was just him and Keith. “Did I miss something?”

 

Keith had leaned back against the couch’s cushions again, hands raking down his face and yanking at strands of his hair in irritation.

 

“Shiro has,” Keith sighed, shoulders sagging forward, “a lot he hasn’t told you guys.”

 

“Whadaya mean?” Lance felt himself sobering up as his legs slid off the seat so he could somehow contort his body upright. The room didn’t spin as much as he thought it should have.

 

“It’s definitely not my place to say anything.”

 

“That’s not an answer, Keith.” Lance threw malice behind the other boy’s name just to get his attention, to get his eyes to meet Lance’s. To prod just enough for Keith to crack and tell him something because the confusion felt wrong in this space, the secrets felt wrong. Lance thought they had shoved past that deca-phoebs or years or whatever ago.

 

“Before all of this,” Keith spun his hand in the air, encompassing the castle around them, (and making Lance miss the feel of those fingers against his palm maybe a little), “happened, Shiro had a life. And a serious relationship. When he left with Matt and Commander Holt, Adam was not… exactly,” Keith struggled for the word, “happy, I guess. I don’t know what he, remembered, exactly. I just know what he looks like when he remembers Adam.”

 

“Oh.” Lance was suddenly forced to realize how little about the pre-this Shiro he actually knew. Pre-space Shiro. Shiro on earth seemed to be this concept that didn’t really exist in Lance’s brain. He knew Shiro had been at the Garrison when he was starting out, but their paths had never crossed. It was easy for him to forget that just like his mom and sisters and brothers and cousins, Shiro had family that wasn’t Lance and their friends.

 

“He’s going to murder me for telling you about Adam.”

 

“He can’t, we couldn’t form Voltron, then.”

 

“Ha ha,” Keith deadpanned, but when Lance caught his purple eyes, there was a hint of true amusement there.

 

“I won’t tell,” Lance said, voice a little softer than before, “I’d like to keep you from being murdered.”

 

“Told you we were a good team,” Keith’s smile came out now, and Lance smiled back before resuming his position laying on the ground.

 

\------

 

 

It was later, possibly hours, more likely just minutes, when Lance gathered enough courage to speak again.

 

“Did you have anyone… like that back on earth?”

 

“You think anyone actually liked me enough back then to want to consider spending one on one time with me?” Lance could feel Keith’s stare on the side of his face but he refused to meet the look head on. A minute ticked by (ha, he’d have to tell Pidge how funny that sounded when the words were used together like that), “Did you?”

 

Lance shook his head no, and when he didn’t feel like that was enough, “I broke up with the girl I was seeing before I left for the Garrison.”

 

“Oh,” Keith said. Then repeated, “oh,” before letting the silence fall upon them again.

 

\-----

 

Lance was drifting in the space between sleep and awake when Keith shifted suddenly and a cracking sound filled the empty silence they had stopped filling with their voices.

 

“Jesus fuck what was that?” Lance said, coming to from his daze on the floor.

 

“My shoulder,” Keith said with his arms stretched far above his head. Somewhere along the way his jacket had been thrown a few feet across on the circular couch and his shirt was stretching against his chest. His eyes were screwed shut while he twisted his arms and chest around, rocking his head side to side. “I think I fucked it up a while ago,” he rotated his right arm and the crack popped again, a little less forcefully this time.

 

“Stop that,” panic bubbled in Lance’s chest, “you could do more damage than good.” The alcohol was still weighing down his limbs and it took a second longer than normal for him to right himself from the floor but he eventually got to a position where he could rock up on his knees and firmly clasp his hand on Keith’s bad shoulder, once again in mid rotation.

 

“I’ll be fine, Lance,” Keith tried to shrug Lance’s hand off but failed when Lance put his full force into keeping Keith’s arm still.

 

“You won’t be if you tear your rotator cuff in half.” Lance shuffled forward on his knees and unceremoniously crawled his way up the couch with one hand still pressing down on Keith’s shoulder. “Do you know how easy it is to do that if it’s already got damage?”

 

“Lance, I’ll be _fine.”_ The boy reiterated.

 

Keith achieved pulling away this time, and he leaned back from Lance’s advancements into his personal space, “It’s just achy and needs to pop sometimes is all.”

 

“Lemme see,” Lance responded and climbed onto the back of the couch, scooching over until he was almost behind Keith.

 

“What? No, I-“

 

“I went to a physiotherapist three times a week because I almost did irreparable damage to my shoulder when I was a swimmer before the Garrison,” Lance said in vexation, “lemme see if I can massage the kink out.”

 

“Please never speak that sentence again,” Keith leaned forward in defeat because apparently the alcohol took away his fight response and Lance slid in behind the other boy. “You were a swimmer?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance answered, placing a hand in the center of Keith’s back and letting it rest there for a moment, “all district champion and everything.” With Keith so close, Lance could just barely let his voice trickle out, it didn’t have to fill the room up when Keith was sharing the same small section of space. It was nice.

 

Lance let his hand travel up Keith’s spine and splayed his fingers out on the top of the shoulder that was the problem. He brushed the hair off the back of Keith’s neck without realizing what he was doing until his brain registered how soft the hair was a tick later.

 

Not the point.

 

Lance went back into the files in his brain to what the therapists used to do to check his shoulders, work out the knots and bumps so he felt like he could move his body again.

 

His thumb began to work without proper instruction, digging into Keith’s trapezius.

 

Keith did not like that.

 

“Fucking bitch, ow!” Keith’s body jerked away from Lance and he shot daggers over his shoulder.

 

“It’s that bad?” Lance’s heart decided to get involved in the equation then, jumping in his chest because if that pressure hurt, Keith had to be in a lot of pain, like, all the time.

 

“Yes, that bad.”

 

“Here,” Lance gingerly placed his hand back on Keith’s body, “I’ll start easier. Trust me.”

 

“’Kay,” Keith answered through gritted teeth, facing forward again.

 

“Relax,” Lance instructed in a word hardly above a whisper. He put pressure on Keith’s shoulders with both hands and the boy under him melted down, “good.” It was a good thing the drunken escapades of before had leveled Keith’s normal aversion to relaxation to almost nothing. There could be hope that this problem could be remedied.

 

Lance was cautious the second time, running his palm over the top of Keith’s shoulder and feeling that the muscles there were chorded not by strength, but by soreness and repeated abuse from fights. “This is your sword arm, yeah?” Lance asked and Keith nodded, leaning in to the slight pressure Lance was beginning to apply.

 

 It was barely a touch at first, just his fingers soothing circles that barely moved the fabric of Keith’s black shirt. When Keith finally let out a breath and he stopped fighting to keep his shoulders up, Lance increased the pressure. The other boy whimpered, but didn’t jerk away. Lance took that as a good sign.

 

Lance knew he was always sore after battles, usually bruised and battered but not horrifically so. Keith was different. It was as if every battle they had fought had collected into this one grouping of muscles at the top of his back, yanking them tighter and tighter and tighter until they now felt like they were going to snap at the mere idea of stretching out. Keith had fought like this? When a touch that had any intensity behind it shot pain through his nerves? Lance’s heart knocked around in his chest, as if it was trying to absorb the tight lines away from Keith’s body.

 

It took a bit, a long bit actually, but the top of Keith’s shoulder began to unwind, just enough that Lance wanted to give it a break and he moved his hand to run down the inside of the shoulder blade. Keith sharply inhaled when Lance’s fingers were halfway down, and the pop sounded again.

 

“Fuck,” Keith groaned.

 

“Sorry,” Lance replied, halting his movements.

 

“’s okay,” Keith said, and then when Lance still hadn’t moved, “keep going.”

 

So Lance did.

 

They both had shifted somewhere along the line so Keith was sitting in between Lance’s legs, actually leaning against Lance’s left knee so Lance could get a better angle down the curve of Keith’s back. Keith, or more notably the alcohol still thrumming around in Keith’s blood, had let his head rest against Lance’s leg. Lance could feel the movements and changes in Keith’s expression when the pain got too much, when he hit a particularly sore spot. Instead of listening to the sounds Keith made, now Lance just knew by the shifting of Keith’s head against his knee when to let up and move to a different part of his back.

 

He was rubbing circles in the center of the shoulder blade, just letting the actual ligaments and muscles that were the real issue have a break before trying to urge them to loosen up a little more, when Keith shifted against him.

 

“Stupid shirt,” the boy muttered, wriggling a little in an attempt to get away from Lance’s hands. Lance pulled back.

 

“Whasssup?” His tongue got stuck on the ‘s’ sound for a moment before he was able to finish the word. Not as sober as he thought he was.

 

“This stupid cotton is rubbing my skin raw,” Keith muttered, rolling his shoulder under the palm Lance had left there.

 

“Then take it off,” and okay Lance? Where did those words come from?

 

In a turn of events that Lance had not seen coming when the night started with him and Keith arguing over the fairness of simulator scores and fallen into the hands of space vodka, Keith complied and with a movement that was much to fluid and graceful for someone under the influence of liquor, his shirt was tossed to the side with the red jacket and Lance was met with planes of pale and scarred skin.

 

It was all of the sudden way too much and his brain rebooted. Actually stopped working and shut down so suddenly that Lance had to regain cognitive thought before he touched Keith again because his hands could have seceded from the union of his body and he wouldn’t know until Keith was slapping them away for going places they shouldn’t.

 

He needed out of that room, if just to breathe. Lance needed to take a second because his lungs had left the building when Keith’s fingers had touched the hem of his shirt, and this is not what was supposed to happen. Lance was helping Keith with an injury that Lance had dealt with for years. Lance was not suddenly feeling flush and like his internal organs were boiling because Keith had taken his shirt off like it was an order.

 

“Wait here,” Lance somehow managed to squeeze out the words, “lemme grab something.”

 

it wasn’t until Lance was in his room, eyes traveling over his toiletries shelf but not really seeing that he let himself mutter under his breath, “Holy Jesus fuck. What the fuck.”

 

Focus. He needed to focus, because this was not about the feelings that had been bubbling in his stomach for weeks or months, this was not about smiles and laughter and inside jokes. This was not about the space vodka and how it had ripped all inhibitions from Lance’s hands.

 

This was about Keith and his fucked-up shoulder and making sure he didn’t render it useless so they could go on and keep defeating Galra.

 

This was about the team.

 

Not about Keith and him. Him and Keith. Keith and Lance together, not neck in neck, but side by side.

 

Definitely not about that at all.

 

When Lance returned to the lounge he expected Keith to be long gone, because the moment had been broken by Lance dashing away, it had to have been. But no, when the door slid open the first thing Lance saw was the skin of Keith’s back contrasting against his dark hair and the curve of his spine as he leaned forward.

 

Lance’s breath did not catch in his throat again.

 

“Where’d you go?” Keith’s voice was still at that quiet volume they had been using, as if their voices would carry down the hall and wake everyone behind their sound proof doors.

 

“Got this,” Lance said, sliding down into his place behind Keith again and opening the jar he had retrieved. Immediately the smell of lavender filled the air and the boy below him huffed out an amused sound that was half laugh and half sigh.

 

“Of course you have lotion that smells like the French countryside.”

 

“Is that an insult?” Lance asked as he warmed some of the cream in his hands before slowly working it into the patch of Keith’s skin the shirt was rubbing against.

 

“It would be if this wasn’t helping so much.” Keith leaned forward over his knees more, resting his elbows on them and hanging his head.

 

“Is it?” Lance’s hands went on autopilot, knowing what had felt good to him so long ago and attempting to recreate it on Keith’s skin.

 

“It is.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Lance kept up the massage, blinking rapidly whenever the remnants of the alcohol threatened to send him to sleep. Gradually, his hands moved away from just Keith’s right shoulder to work on the left, then the center of his back, then his neck, and eventually Lance’s hands were running up and down and over the length of Keith’s spine without him really thinking about it. Occasionally, Keith would hum in appreciation, tilting his head or body to allow Lance better access. Lance had hypnotized himself, fully immersed in watching his hands find new and different patterns across Keith’s back when he finally spoke again.

 

“Lance?”

 

“Mmhmm?” Lance didn’t think his tongue could form words right now. He was relaxed and Keith was warm under him.

 

“Thank you, you don’t have to keep going if you don’t, ya know, want?” Keith’s voice trailed into a yawn and it took Lance a beat to remember he needed to respond. The ritualistic nature of this had taken over his entire being, and that was his only excuse because the movements and time had worked to sober him up pretty well when he just leaned forward and pressed his nose into the back of Keith’s neck and nodded. Because that’s what they were doing now.

 

“Okay,” he reiterated, if a movement can even be reiterated. Everything he knew about Keith told him the other boy would eventually shy away, eventually break the spell that this whole encounter had placed upon them and Lance’s free pass to touch would be over.

 

Maybe it was enchanted space vodka.

 

But Keith didn’t. Not even when Lance wrapped his dead weights of arms around Keith’s waist, not when Lance leaned in further and laid his head down and pressed his face into the space between Keith’s shoulder and his neck, and still not when Lance’s mouth betrayed every line Lance had drawn for it and pressed a kiss below Keith’s ear.

 

No, Keith didn’t shy away then. He did Lance one better.

 

“Hey,” Keith tapped a finger against the knee that was still caging him into the couch. Lance lifted his head and opened his eyes and Keith’s face was incredibly close. Lance could only focus on one feature at a time: eyes, nose, eyelashes, lips. Lance’s eyes loitered there, taking the line of Keith’s mouth and how it was quirked into that half smile Lance had learned was Keith’s show of fondness usually reserved for Hunk’s meals or Pidge’s tangents but was now the only thing Lance could keep a steady focus on in the room. “Hey,” Keith repeated with another tap to Lance’s knee and that snapped Lance to attention, eyes working their way up to meet with Keith’s and there was a soft sort of adoration nestled there. “Hey Lance?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” the statement took Lance aback for a second. No asking for permission, no chance to refuse (not that Lance would ever), but a strong, steady, bold statement that was backed up in action when Keith closed the space between their heads and let his lips press into Lance’s.

 

The smoldering that had been kindled in the pit of Lance’s stomach for weeks and weeks burst into flame under Keith’s touch, melting into the other boy and surging forward to make sure Keith knew he wanted this too.

 

It was an awkward angle, Lance bending forward and twisted around and Keith having to hyperextend his shoulder to just get an arm around Lance’s back to hold him in place. As if Lance was going to break away first.

 

Lance was tired and was trying to figure out how to nonverbally ask Keith to turn around and kneel on the couch for better access when Keith beat him to the punch and took a handful of Lance’s shirt in his hand and tugged. The angle was just right and Lance slid down at the request. Keith’s hand drifted down to Lance’s thigh and pulled again, and before Lance’s brain kicked in and figured out what was happening, he was in Keith’s lap, knees on either side of Keith’s hips and yeah. This was way better.

 

Keith kissed like he flew: precise and quick and an unrelenting force that cannot be ignored. With Lance where he wanted him, Keith bunched his fingers in the worn fabric of Lance’s shirt, holding him there while his other hand tangled in and petted the hair on the back of Lance’s neck.

 

They fit together like this, Keith sitting back and Lance following him, running his fingers up Keith’s chest until he was cupping the other boy’s face. Lance had thought about kissing Keith a lot, how he would woo the boy and charm him and maybe get to push Keith against a wall (he filed that idea away because there was no way this was going to stay a one-time occurrence), but never in any universe did Lance believe Keith would be the one to instigate this, Keith would be the one to control the kiss.

 

Keith never let Lance into the driver’s seat, never allowed Lance to push or pull of his own accord, it was all at the pace Keith set. Keith was the one to lick into Lance’s mouth, Keith was the one to shift so that Lance could work his way closer into Keith’s lap, Keith was the one who broke away first, with Lance’s lips chasing his until he realized that all Keith wanted to do was peck and nip his way down Lance’s neck. When he got to the collar of Lance’s shirt Keith whined – actually whined – and his fingers began to worry at the hem.

 

“Hey, hey,” Lance whispered, working to untangle his fingers from Keith’s hair and stopping the boy under him from getting his shirt off, “maybe not in the lounge? Where our entire team spends all our free time?”

 

“Okay,” Keith said, crooking his smile up at Lance and that did things to the fire burning away in Lance’s belly.

 

“Okay,” Lance repeated back to him, diving down for one more kiss that lasted a little longer than planned because his brain just kept repeating _one more, and another, and another one more._ His body didn’t want to get up because his brain told him this was the only perfect storm in which this situation was going to ever happen to him.

 

“Wanna come bed with me?” Keith asked and honestly, the space vodka had to have some mystical power. Because this was every fantasy Lance had ever imagined packaged perfectly for his consumption. “I mean,” Keith caught what he said a second later and a look of panic darted across his face, “not in that-I don’t know if you want yet I-“

 

“Stop rambling and take me to bed,” Lance spoke against Keith’s lips, gently reaching up to tug on the split ends of Keith’s hair before swinging off the other boy’s lap, “I’ll even race you,” and before Keith could say no or think too much, Lance was pushing over the back of the couch and bounding out of the room, taking the left turn instead of the right and hoping Keith was right behind him.

 

\-----

 

It was late when they woke up, even though Lance wasn’t sure how he knew that, it wasn’t like there was a sun to rise to tell him he was waking up way past noon. But whatever internal clock that kept track of his sleep schedule told him he was opening his eyes way later than normal.  By the stillness in the air of the ship outside the door, Lance was pretty sure he and Keith weren’t the only ones sleeping in this morning.

 

Said Keith was just rousing while Lance’s brain processed all of the anomalies that had happened the night before. He still smelled like lavender, and the skin of his back where Lance’s hand was now resting was smooth and soft. Keith’s nose was cold when it tried burrowing itself against Lance’s now-bare chest and his cotton-like hair was itchy against Lance’s collarbone. Lance could not in a million universes care less.

 

“Morning,” Keith muttered against Lance’s skin, right above a massive hickey on his ribcage that stood out stark even on Lance’s dark complexation.

 

“Hey,” Lance responded, pulling Keith closer and nuzzling into the top of his head.

 

“How much you want to bet Pidge yells at someone due to her hangover today?” Keith asked, his fingers idly stroking up and down Lance’s arm.

 

“If you don’t think Pidge is already complaining to someone in her sleep, you don’t know her well enough,” Lance retorted and Keith giggled.

 

“As long as she doesn’t bother us,” Keith said, finally lifting his face to meet Lance’s.

 

“Yeah,” Lance threaded his hand into Keith’s bedhead, pulling the other boy down until his lips could brush against the other’s, “we have more important things to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> My amazing friend drew a really cute fan art for this story! You can find it [here!!!](https://saltasauruskei.tumblr.com/post/178581766748/i-drew-some-klance-based-off-of-velocitytimes2-s)


End file.
